


fool's paradise

by wynsolstice



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Suicidal Thoughts, Underage Drug Use, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 15:47:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11854740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wynsolstice/pseuds/wynsolstice
Summary: "Rich, please. This isn't fair - "Michael knew he fucked up at that point; Rich's eyes hardened and he squared his shoulders and stepped forward until Michael was crowded against a bathroom stall door and the cold metal handle was biting into his spine."Nothing about this has ever been fair," Rich spat, eyes wild as he tightened his trembling fingers. "Look at you - your soulmate is tied off to somebody else. How fundamentally fucked is that? Does that sound fair to you, Mell?"In which Michael takes the SQUIP and tries to change his fate and Jeremy realizes too late that a stupid tattoo doesn't mean a damn thing.





	fool's paradise

_"So, Mell, what's it going to be?"_

Michael curses under his breath as he walks into yet another wall, pulling too sharp of a turn around a corner as he makes his way briskly towards his first class. He can hear his blood rushing in his ears just beneath the surface of his skin, hot and angry, and it only makes him more disoriented. He narrowly avoids plowing into a freshman, who manages to scramble out of his way a mere second before impact.

Michael can't bring himself to care. He can barely bring himself to breathe properly. He knows how he looks - pissed, red in the face, fists curled at his sides. He looks like he's going to punch somebody in the face.

He really wishes that person could be Rich Goranski.

_"The way you look at him. It's painfully obvious."_

When Michael plows into the classroom twenty minutes late, the teacher glances at him like she's about to tell him off, but whatever she sees on his face must put up a pretty convincing argument because she snaps her mouth shut and just settles on glaring at him as he takes a seat before returning to her monotonous lesson.

Michael's grateful, because he's pretty sure he would have snapped if she asked him where he was.

He doesn't bother listening to the material, since nobody gives a shit whether he passes this class or not, and instead just drags his finger through his hair and lets his elbows drop on the desk, glaring at the grains of wood in the surface.

_Breathe in, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6. Out, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8. In. 2. 3. 4...._

It takes a few minutes until his shoulders aren't shaking with every breath and the rush of blood roaring in his ears quiets. It takes a few more until he can release the death grip he has on his hair.

Rich's smug voice echoes at the back of his head:  _"You can't keep running away from your problems, Mell."_

Michael grinds his teeth and then decides Rich isn't worth all the anger and panic he's giving him. Letting out a harsh breath through his nose, he digs through his backpack and pulls out a notebook so the teacher will stop glaring at him and starts scratching angry nonsense in the margins of the notes Jeremy took for him a week earlier because "just because you don't give a shit about your future doesn't mean I don't, Michael Mell."

Thinking about Jeremy helps take the edge off of his angry tirade until he realizes that it did and then his blood is boiling all over again because fucking Rich Goranski was  _right_ and Michael hates that he has to admit that.

_"Don't be such a fucking loser." Rich delivered the words with a cruel, icy smile. "God knows you've spent enough time doing that. I can help you."_

_"Why the hell would I want your help?"_

Michael hates how weak he sounded, like a child stomping its foot and saying "no" even though they know they don't have any say in it. Rich saw it, too.

_"Because you're just desperate enough to do it now, with Christine in the picture. Whether or not cardigan-boy has the guts to do anything about it is unimportant - all you have to know is that he sure isn't spending any time looking at you when his eyes are constantly glued on Miss Bright and Beautiful."_

_"But Christine is his soulmate." Michael bit his tongue to keep from cursing at the barely concealed whine in his voice. "I don't have the right to take that away from him."_

Michael's wrist burns under the sleeve of his hoodie, raw and exposed after Rich marched forward and tore off the concealing plastic he put on every morning and crumpled in his fist. Without it, he's constantly playing at the end of the sleeve, making sure it covers the humiliation and truth burning just beneath it, scripted across his wrist with glaring obviousness.

_"This is your right," Rich spat, pushing his sleeve fully out of the way and revealing the angry red skin and the ink scrawled over Michael's wrist for anyone who stumbled into the bathroom to see. "Just because you refuse to accept it doesn't mean it isn't there. You should be fucking lucky - not everyone can say they have that right, but you hide it like a fucking coward."_

In hindsight, Michael realizes the vitriol in Rich's voice was too personal to just be an ambiguous statement - there's something else there that Michael doesn't know about; doesn't deserve to know about.

Maybe that's why Rich looked so crazed - so close to snapping.

Michael tells himself that's why he didn't tell him no. Because if he did he'd have to face all of Rich's insane wrath. 

All too hectic for a Tuesday.

When Michael grabbed his arm back from Rich he hadn't tried to stop him, but the damage to the concealer was already done. The smudged, Sharpie-inscribed name of the girl from 7-Eleven was too damaged to be put back on, and his spare pack was at home.

The nifty and cheap concealers had been a part of Michael's life since he first met Jeremy in pre-school.  Once the boy he'd been admiring from afar became front-and-center in his life, it became necessary to hide the ink printed on his skin like a cow brand. 

After all, what would Jeremy think if he saw his name written on the wrist of his best friend after hiding it for twelve years?

That question kept Michael up at night, had him itching at the raised skin like an annoying bug bite and digging his fingernails into it like he could rub it off. 

He'd hid it at first because he was embarrassed, but he didn't start pasting cheap concealers over it and re-writing _Katherine Smith_ every morning until he learned about Jeremy's mark.

The flawless, flowing  _Christine Canigula_ emblazoned on Jeremy's right wrist was painful enough - knowing that he had the bearer's name on his own wrist hurt like a punch to the gut - and knowing that he couldn't do anything about it when he saw the way Jeremy brushed his fingers over his mark without even realizing it was worse than death itself, Michael thought.

It was just so much easier if he could lie to himself and everyone around him. There was less pain for other people, and more importantly, he could still be friends with Jeremy.

_What would Jeremy think?_

_"What would Jeremy think if he knew you were hiding this from him for all these years,"_   _Rich leered, picking up on his thoughts immediately. "Friends don't lie to each other, Mell. So stop lying and take the fucking offer."_

_"I'm going to be late - "_

_"As if you care."_

_"Rich, please. This isn't fair - "_

_Michael knew he fucked up at that point; Rich's eyes hardened and he squared his shoulders and stepped forward until Michael was crowded against a bathroom stall door and the cold metal handle was biting into his spine._

Michael flinches as he remembers the way Rich's fist came down on the stall door like a hammer, jarring all the way down his back and turning his brain into a mess of panic and frenzied escape plans.

He thought Rich was going to punch him then: instead he only grabbed the front of Michael's hoodie and jerked him forward until they were nose-to-nose. 

 _"Nothing about this has ever been fair," Rich spat, eyes wild as he tightened his trembling fingers. "Look at you - your soulmate is tied off to somebody else. How fundamentally_ fucked _is that? Does that sound fair to you, Mell?"_

It didn't sound fair at all. It still doesn't, and never had. But Michael has known for a long time he can't do jack shit about fate and who it screws over.

Rich offered him a different option. A way to stick it to fate and potentially rewrite his own story. 

_Michael couldn't find the strength to respond, but Rich didn't seem to be looking for one._

_"This whole soulmate business has been driving people to kill themselves or other people for centuries, and look how far it's gotten us." Rich smiled a bitter, unfriendly smile. "All we have now is you crying your eyes out in a bathroom stall and pretending to be somebody else's soulmate so you don't hurt your friend. And don't pull the chivalry card on me, this isn't chivalry, this is suicide. This is fucked up, man."_

Michael can't pretend that Rich was trying to be sympathetic when he said it; it was clearly directed at something greater, but it still has Michael grinding his teeth furiously anyways.

Rich has a point.

A fucked up, unfair, but nonetheless valid point.

Michael's spent the past twelve years beating himself up and hiding himself from his best friend and  _lying_ to him all because of a stupid fucking tattoo. While he's beyond complaining about it, it's still  _not fair._

Rich has a point. 

He can't deny him that.

_Rich released him abruptly, like he'd been shocked, and stepped away. Michael didn't dare move from the stall door, afraid that if he so much as breathed too hard Rich would go all crackhead on him and start throwing knives._

_"Whatever. 'S not even worth my time. Spend your life drooling over some shithead who jacks off every morning, I don't care." Rich was muttering under his breath, more to himself than to Michael even though the words were clearly directed at him._

_"Rich?" Michael spoke hesitantly, but the other boy didn't seem to react. "Dude, are you on something? You're acting like a psycho."_

_Rich wheeled on him and Michael flinched back, immediately regretting his choice of words._

_"I'm not a fucking psycho! Just 'cause I'm not - just 'cause - get the fuck outta here, Mell, fuck." Rich raked a hand through his hair, stalking towards the end of the bathroom. "I don't give a shit what happens to you. Just get outta my sight before I do something stupid."_

In hindsight, Michael should have stayed and got more information, but past Michael Mell was more interested in not getting shanked by his high school bully and instead just high-tailed it out of there as fast as he could.

Right in time to see Jeremy talking to Christine, all doe-eyes and nervous hands and uncertain in the way he is whenever he talks about her. And Michael didn't know - doesn't know - maybe it was the conversation with Rich shaking him up, maybe it was just the pent-up frustration of 12 years spent pining after his best friend, maybe it was how sensitive and vulnerable his wrist felt without a patch - he snapped.

Michael groans and rakes a hand through his hair just as the bell sounds, ringing harsh in his ears and breaking him out of his unpleasant thoughts. He glances up to see the teacher giving him a see-me-after-class look and doesn't bother packing up his notebook, just slings his backpack over his shoulder and books it out of there before she can even open her mouth.

Dealing with her tomorrow is going to be rough, but he doesn't care. He's too pissed off and high-strung right now to do anything but keep moving, pushing through the rest of the day and praying to whatever god there is that he doesn't have to deal with any more of Rich and his psychotic bathroom episodes.

"Michael!"

Michael hates the way he immediately comes to a halt - nearly causing a freshman to flatten himself before jumping out of the way and scurrying off like a mouse - and glances over his shoulder like a hopeful dog at its master's call.

Jeremy is jogging towards him, a big smile on his face like he's having the best day of his life.

 _That makes one of us,_ Michael thinks wryly, even though he mirrors the expression with one of his own as Jeremy catches up with him and slings his arm over Michael's shoulder.

The height difference is getting more and more obvious as the days go by - he swears Jeremy grows an inch every time he sees him, and he can't help but feel a little insignificant. For all of the growing up Jeremy is pulling off, Michael just gets broader. He still has soft edges and round cheeks and short legs. He's constantly living in Jeremy's shadow.

"Well, don't you look like the cat that got the cream," Michael says as they fall in step, almost immediately regretting how bitter it sounds and how Jeremy starts to pull away. "Shit. I didn't mean it like that."

"It's cool." Jeremy doesn't pull away, even though his expression is still slightly dimmer than usual. 

The regret that pools at the bottom of Michael's stomach is thick and heavy, so he rushes to fix it, elbowing Jeremy in the side lightly and fixing a big grin on his face.

"So what did Christine say to you this time?"

It works: Jeremy lights up like a Christmas tree both emotionally and physically, a blush creeping up his ears that battles the smile on his face.

"You wouldn't believe it, dude! She came right up to me today and started asking me about the play. She even smiled!"

Jeremy immediately launches into an infatuated rhetoric about Christine and Michael humors him by nodding along eagerly and smiling and playing the part of the excited friend, even though each word seems to drive another nail into the wall of Things He Doesn't Want to Deal With Today. He finds his smile growing more and more forced as they settle into lunch, taking their respective places in a corner of the cafeteria so nobody can bother them.

Jeremy catches onto it way too quickly, poking him with a fork when Michael finds himself spacing out.

"Dude, you can yell at me if I start rambling," Jeremy says, brow furrowed. "Did something happen earlier? You're acting weird. Spacey."

"Weird?" Michael's voice rises a little bit and he clears his throat before shaking his head. "Nah, everything's cool. I don't mind the rambling, it's cute."

Jeremy falters and it's only then that Michael realizes what he's said, but before he can shove his foot into his mouth and staple it there for good, Jeremy is shaking it off and returning to picking at his shapeless lunch. He mutters something under his breath that Michael doesn't catch.

"As much as I wish it weren't true, I don't have supersonic hearing, Jer."

"I said you don't have to lie to me to make me feel better about myself," Jeremy says, catching him off-guard as he looks up and meets his eyes reproachfully. "Best friends don't hide things from each other."

_If only you knew, Jeremy._

_(What would Jeremy think - )_

Michael bites his tongue before he lets that slip and instead looks anywhere but at Jeremy, afraid that if he does he's going to start talking and end up fucking himself over tenfold. It takes a good minute with Jeremy staring at him expectantly until he cracks.

"It's just Rich being a fucking weirdo - "

"Ugh, I'm gonna kick Rich in the face one of these days." Jeremy's face contorts into an ugly angry expression that makes Michael's stomach flip. "Who does he think he is, cornering you in the bathroom all the time. At least get the balls to do it where everyone can see you if you're going to harass somebody."

 _No,_ Michael thinks, reflecting on the details of their earlier conversation,  _please do not do that, Rich Goranski._

"It's whatever," Michael says, looking at his hands to keep from looking at Jeremy and letting something slip. "He was talking some serious bullshit today, but I'm pretty sure he's just pulling my leg. Dude's totally lost his mind."

"Probably has something to do with the fact that he spends his weekend snorting Sharpies and putting his dick in various pieces of farm equipment," Jeremy gripes, which makes Michael snort and then they're both laughing like idiots.

They spend the rest of lunch debating over whether Rich would fuck a tractor or a lawnmower (it was decided he was statistically more likely to fuck a lawnmower for the added adrenaline of potential dick-dicing while high on Sharpies) and slip back into their usual banter. By the time the bell rings Michael is almost able to completely forget the encounter with Rich in the bathroom and the chaos it created.

That is, until they're getting up to leave and Jeremy leans over to brush off some chocolate puddling at the corner of Michael's lip and then licks it off his finger with a deliberate wink that makes Michael's heart race even though it was meant to be a joke. 

Michael manages to muster the strength to grin and wiggles his eyebrows suggestively back, even though he's pretty sure he's suffering from cardiac arrest and Rich's voice is back in his head,  _"It's painfully obvious"_ and  _"You can't keep running away from your problems"_ and  _"What would Jeremy think"_  and  _"Friends don't lie to each other."_

He keeps it together until he's watching Jeremy depart to his class and then he's locking himself in a bathroom stall and curling up on the ground and screaming into his hoodie until the ringing in his ears dies down and he's breathing hard. 

_Nothing about this has ever been fair._

Rich has a point.

Michael is dimly aware of his phone buzzing, and he pulls it out to see a text from an unknown number. His fingers tremble a little as he types in his passcode and reads it.

> **unknown (1:16p.m.)** if ur still interested in not being fucked up abt ur bff 4 the rest of ur life meet me @ 711 @ 7:11
> 
> **unknown (1:16p.m.)** also if ur gonna cry like a bitch dont do it in a school bathrm ppl r giving u weird looks

A large of Michael wants to delete the texts and block the number and forget it ever happened. A part of him that's totally fine with being friends with Jeremy and watching him from the sidelines for the rest of his life.

Another, smaller, bruised and beaten part of him wants to stop hiding and do something for once instead of just being the lame sidekick. That part of him has been watching Jeremy for years - after he falls asleep, when he thinks Jeremy isn't looking, taking advantage of quickly fading dreams - and has never really had a chance before now.

If he doesn't do this, things stay as they are. He'll be friends with Jeremy. Maybe in a few years Jeremy will find out and it'll be weird but by then he'll have Christine, and if he doesn't, well. He doesn't know. But Christine would be stupid to reject somebody like Jeremy - somebody kind, and gentle, and a little messy in the head but still all around a beautiful person.

If he does do this, thoughts like that have a chance to be voiced.

He doesn't know what exactly Rich is offering, but it's a hope Michael has never offered himself. And maybe Rich is faking and just trying to lead Michael on, and he'll be made a fool for it, but at this point he's sick of caring.

What will this magical solution do? Will it erase his mark, or make a new one in its place? Will it somehow change Jeremy's? What if it hurts Christine? He doesn't want that, as much as it hurts to see her name on Jeremy's wrist, it's not her fault.

Rich wasn't very informative in his little bathroom tirade, and Michael knows that he can't trust him, but at least he can go and confirm once and for all that he's full of shit. At least to get the ever-growing list of  _what-ifs_ out of his head so he can go back to living his normal life.

By the time the class period ends, Michael hasn't left the bathroom, but he's made up his mind. As the bell rings, he pulls out his phone and types out a hasty response.

> **mcmell (2:01p.m.)**  only if you buy me a slushie

* * *

Michael gets a response in the middle of math, earning a nasty look from the teacher as he pointedly ignores him and pulls out his phone. 

The text on the screen makes his stomach twist with - with something. Worry? Excitement? Fear? Trepidation?

He can't tell.

> **unknown (2:31p.m.)** whatever the fuck u want mell. ud better bring ur piggy bank w/ u. happiness ain't cheap

Either way, his savings are probably going to take a hit, if what Rich is saying is true. 

If.

God, Michael is tired of _if_ s.

He's ready to start making _when_ s.

When the bell finally rings announcing school is over, he nearly trips down the stairs booking it to his car. And even though he told himself he wouldn't get excited, he still feels his stomach tying in knots at the mere idea of having a chance after twelve years spent stifling that feeling.

**Author's Note:**

> yikes i hate ending chapters it feels so monologue-y. anyways take this and enjoy it i'm so tired. i also didn't edit pls point out glaring errors so i can fix them tomorrow or whenever i regret not editing lol
> 
> lmk what u think!! sorry at my subscribers who follow for my yoi stuff i love you and you should listen to bmc. good shit!
> 
> unrequited soulmate fics are my whole legacy


End file.
